


One-Two Punch

by Rifa



Category: BioShock
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Boot Worship, Burnplay, Burns, Ice Play, M/M, Mind Control, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Sexual Violence, Whump, blowjob, forced blowjob, nail gun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rifa/pseuds/Rifa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After killing Andrew Ryan, Fontaine decides to keep Jack around for very special fluffy warm reasons. I have no excuses, this is trash for the sake of trash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Violence and forced blowjobs ahead, take heed friends. This is pure trash. I have no excuse. Welcome to hell.

Everything changed when he killed Andrew Ryan.

The curtain had been pulled back to reveal all to him. The game board had appeared at his feet; the game everyone had been playing which he did not know the rules of until now. He could see the strings that moved his hand and now could feel the metaphorical punch to the gut every time he heard those three words.

But it didn't matter. He still plugged the genetic key to the city in the machine, electric charges, gears, and clicking machinery handing over everything to Atlas. Jack knew, as he had pushed the key in, that he was locking the key to his own cell. Obediently bowing his head for a finishing blow, or for more shackles. As the kindly voice on his radio changed and the displays flickered and changed to Fontaine's face, all illusions he had had of freedom, of potential salvation, of the surface, disappeared in a shuddering trail of smoke.

Jack realized everything had been smoke and mirrors. Even the things inside of him, inside his head he thought he could count on. They had become insubstantial. He realized he had nothing. Nothing except those three words. And he learned, that day as the machinery that decided who owned Rapture groaned under the new weight of Fontaine, that any sort of salvation was not his.

There had been a little sister, someone he suddenly felt a sad and desperate kinship with, appear and ask him to follow her. She had some way out, some path to safety, something or somewhere that would cure Jack of the situation he was drowning in. But as he went towards what could only be better than this, he heard those three words, and an order to stay where he was until Fontaine arrived. Jack's feet became immobile, he could no sooner take a step than he could turn back time and stop himself from going inside that lighthouse. The bots buzzed and hummed around his head, unnecessary, Fontaine purring and growling the details of Jack's creation on the radio, hurtful more than necessary, and then numbering the ways in which Jack was a freak, an idiot, a gullible child. Unnecessary, Jack was already thinking that.

\---

Since that day, since Fontaine became the biggest bad in Rapture, Jack had been attached to him like a shadow. Fontaine had become like a child who had suddenly come to own the entire toy store; bouncing from toy to toy, picking up activities to throw them back down, making sure everyone knew the scope of his control, the strength he now had. Jack was one of those toys, one of those activities and the main way Fontaine displayed his control and power.

Jack had already made himself a reputation in Rapture. But now, locked to Fontaine's side, he had become more lethal, more brutal, more of a nightmare than he ever would have been on his own. Before, Jack had burned, electrocuted, shot and had even beaten splicers to death without so much as a second thought. Fontaine liked things a certain way, and his "suggestions" had made anyone in his way befall a slow, agonizing, and tortuous demise. Jack complied and did as he was told, with no other option available to him; breaking bones and combining plasmids and destroying and disfiguring at Fontaine's say so.

It haunted Jack in the late hours, and when he was finally given permission to sleep he had nightmares about the things he did. But the nightmares, the constant violence he was told to inflict were not the worst things Fontaine did. While Jack despised being locked to him, being the tool of his power and control over everything that still had a pulse in Rapture, being the thing he used to prove he was the one in control. The worst thing was when Fontaine turned on him, made sure Jack knew that _he_ was the one in control.

It was unnecessary, of course. Jack knew the only reason he wasn't dead, the only reason he existed was because Fontaine willed it. Fontaine had even once shown Jack how simple it would be by telling him to stop breathing. Jack woke up in a vita chamber gasping for breath, and to this day did not know if he had passed out or had actually died. Those machines made it so Fontaine could kill him over and over. But he also knew Fontaine could shut them down, or have him damaged beyond repair. But Jack knew, in the quiet and thoughtful private spot left in his brain, that Fontaine was not doing this for his sake. He had seen the look in Fontaine's eyes as he whispered instructions for torture. He knew that Fontaine wanted to get his own hands dirty, without any chance of someone fighting back.

“Yer a freak kid, you know that right?”

Yes. Jack was silently grateful it was a rhetorical question. He was standing before Fontaine where he sat watching, Jack's plasmid hand was full of embers burning hot, flickers of fire licking at and burning the skin as he ran the hand under his sweater. The smell of burning flesh mixed with Fontaine's good cigar. Jack was shuddering slightly, but the burn was swallow, 'just enough to make you tender' had been the suggestion. He knew why, knew what was coming, Jack was strong and tough and hard to make hurt without a bit of 'softening' before Fontaine got his hands on him. Jack was preparing himself for Fontaine to hurt him, badly, if he was unlucky. He usually was.

“Let's see how you've done kid.” Fontaine sat forward in his chair, cigar smoke wafting about his face.

Jack savored the temporary relief as the fire withdrew from his shaking hand. The skin under his sweater burned and scratched as he pulled the wool up to his chin, letting Fontaine see the extent of his wounds. The cool air felt nice, nicer than the scratchy surface of the scorched and filthy wool, but Jack quivered at the vulnerability of it, the look in Fontaine's eyes as he stood with a low whistle.

Fontaine sauntered over, taking a long drag of his cigar as he did. Jack's eyes followed his, which were gazing hungrily over his scarred skin, and then followed the hot burning end of his cigar. Once he was close enough, Fontaine leaned close to Jack and there was a flicker in his eye that sent a shiver through him. “Does it hurt?” Fontaine asked.

“Yes.” Jack's voice shook against his will. He was watching that spark in Fontaine's eye, the one that filled him with fear and pure dread. It was the one ace Fontaine held against him that hurt more than anything else. Please, he thought, please do not do that thing to me, not tonight.

The spark Jack saw in Fontaine's eyes caught fire. It was as if Fontaine had heard Jack pleading in the one word he had spoken, had felt the vibrations of his fear and knew the exact thing Jack was praying for him not to do. He licked his lips as he pulled the cigar from his mouth, something in his eyes changed and Jack felt it before he heard it.

“Take a deep breath boyo,” The voice of Atlas crooned from Fontaine's mouth. The sound struck Jack like a sharp hot blade and his stomach turned violently. No matter how long it had been, how many times Fontaine did this, the betrayal and irony of the voice he inexplicably still trusted coming from this man hurt him deeper than away wound. “This may hurt a wee bit...”

Fontaine touched Jack's raw chest and the warmth of his hands made the burns flare back into hot pain, as he ran his dry hands along the skin it ripped and tore easily. Jack could not help but choke against his 'deep breath', cry out against the pain, the mock soft look in Fontaine's eye as he hurt him in a such a casual and gentle way. Tears welled in his eyes from the pain, even if it wasn't the worst he had felt, wasn't as bad as he knew it would get.

Fontaine breathed out slowly, a smirk spreading across his face, “Come on boyo, deep breaths, you can handle this.” The encouragement was fake, Jack knew it, and as he obeyed and took in long shuddering breaths and decided it was better to accept the encouragement. Accept Atlas' voice. Imagine it was through his radio and he was talking him through a regular injury to keep him going. Fontaine's fingers curls and nails raked against torn and burnt flesh, his eyes were on Jack's, watching him obey and listen. Watching him try to rationalize the pain and the voice. “That's it Jack, lord hates a quitter.”

Fontaine's other hand had been holding the cigar, rolling it between fingers, and Jack's eyes kept darting to it. A friendly, charming chuckle came from Fontaine, the ghost of the Atlas concept bounced around in Jack's head. “Is this what yer waitin' for?” He asked, eyebrows up as he held the cigar near Jack's face. He spoke as if he was a boy looking at a chocolate bar, dangling something good in front of him.

Jack swallowed, unsure if he was allowed to answer. The smell of it seared into him, remembering the last time. Nervous, eyes fluttering suddenly, Jack answered “No.”

That was the wrong answer. Jack knew as soon as he said it, everything inside of his tensing as a shadow casted in Fontaine's eyes. Fontaine did not like to hear the word 'no'. Jack's mind began to reel, desperately trying to find a way to back pedal, to undo what he had done, to fix the look of anger and disappointment in Fontaine's eyes. “I-I-I-”

“No.” Fontaine spoke with his own voice, sharp as a strike to the face. Jack shut up. “No kid, that's not how we do things do here. Have you forgotten how this works? You think you have any say in this? You're not real kid, you're something I bought and paid for. I tell you what you want. I tell you what you like. You do not disappoint me, I paid good money for you and I have kept you alive here. I ask if you want a punch to the gut and you say-”

Jack was shaking as Fontaine made a gesture for him to finish the sentence. Jack hated this game. The one where he was expected to be a step ahead and now what exactly Fontaine wanted. But he was pretty good at it.

He swallowed and answered carefully, “Yes I want to be punched in the gut.”

Fontaine obliged, knocking the wind from Jack's lungs, cracking a rib, searing the pain of the burnt flesh there. Jack teetered but did not fall, the hand with the cigar was holding his shoulder in place. The smell made him dizzy. “That's a good lad.” Fontaine purred, “If you can do what you're fucking told I'll go easier on you, make this better for you.”

It was a lie. Jack knew. But the suggestion of 'easier' and 'better' sounded so nice, and complying was so much easier than trying to have a thought that was his own. It felt better to just say what Fontaine wanted him to say, to beg for the abuse Fontaine wanted to dish out. Even with the pain, it felt better than the terror he felt at doing the wrong thing.

“Now.... boyo...” Fontaine melted back into Atlas with a rise of his brow, as if that was the great service he was doing for Jack to make things 'better' for him. Jack was too locked up inside his brain to know if it was truly better or worse anymore. “Lets give this another shot.”

He held up the cigar again, a beat went by before Jack realized he was waiting for him to talk. “Yes I want it.” The lies poured out, not willing to disobey, even when he had the chance to. The knot in his stomach unclenched as he did so, relaxed as he waited for the burn.

Fontaine took one last drag of the cigar before pressing the burning end hard against Jack's chest. Jack gasped and cried out as he took it, feeling the burn run deep into his already tender flesh. He breathed hard, still holding up his disgusting sweater and still locked to the spot as Fontaine exhaled thick smoke into his face.

“That's it...” Fontaine purred as he relented, Jack gasped and fought to catch his breath. Jack almost felt like thanking him for taking the cigar away, for stopping the pain he was inflicting, but he held back, knowing if he did it once he would be told to do it every time.

Fontaine threw the cigar aside and tilted his head back, looking at Jack with a sharpness in his eyes that was calculating. Jack stood waiting, silent, his raw burned and scarred flesh still on display for him. Finally Fontaine decided on the next pain to put Jack through.

“Would you kindly get down on your knees?”

It was as if the floor had jumped up to slam against his knees. He was almost dizzy from the drop, his hands falling to his sides as his sweater scraped back down against his chest. Fontaine strode around him like a vulture and Jack swallowed hard as he anticipated what was coming next. The man rounded back to Jack's front, his hand at his chin tipping it up to look at him. Fontaine was shadowed against the light behind him, posturing to show Jack how big and how powerful he was. Jack didn't need reminding.

“Your wrench.” He said with a hand extended. Without hesitation Jack pulled his wrench, the familiar weapon that had kept him alive, from its place on his hip and laid its weight gently in Fontaine's hand.

Jack braced, shivering at the cruelty and sad irony of this new idea of Fontaine's. He braced but it didn't help. The blow was so strong, so heavy that Jack heard a crack. His vision erupted into white light and he felt his entire head swim thickly in dull pain. It felt like a big daddy cracking his skull with its drill, the same throbbing and brain chemicals and shock, dulling his senses as his adrenaline and encoded survival instincts kick into gear. He was almost vibrating, caught between shock and fight or flight response, unable to move as he knelt there before Fontaine.

“You'll get another kid, unless I see some real fuckin' enthusiasm this time.” Fontaine growled as he undid his belt. Jack's head was still swimming, his could feel his plasmids almost buzzing in his nerves and blood, but he did not want to be hit again, his survival suddenly depending on pleasing Fontaine with something other than just his pain.

Fontaine unzipped and planted his feet closer to Jack. With one hand he stroked his already hard cock, the other pushed Jack's head back and crudely shoved three fingers into Jack's mouth. Jack twitched and went slack jawed, flattening his tongue as Fontaine pushed his way into Jack's throat. His fingers tasted of tobacco and steel and sea salt, Jack wanted to gag and force the foul fingers out but he knew better.

Satisfied, Fontaine withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick saliva on Jack's already sweaty face. Jack kept his mouth open, ready and willing and enthusiastic. Fontaine chuckled, a low gravelly sound “Look at you.” He said, his voice unsure of whether to use his natural or faked accent. “Poor kid, I'd almost feel bad for you if you weren't such a pathetic freak.”

Fontaine shoved himself inside of Jack's mouth, so rough and quick Jack almost gagged in surprise. Jack recovered almost instantly, tightening his lips around Fontaine's cock, moving his tongue clumsily as much as he could as Fontaine grabbed him by the hair and started pumping. Jack struggled, almost gagging, desperate to do something to somehow be better than he had been. In the past Fontaine had just fucked the hell out of his face, all Jack could do was focus on controlling his gag reflex. But enthusiasm, that was more difficult, and it was as if Fontaine was challenging him.

Jack squirmed, uncomfortable and disgusted as he felt himself slowly harden. Being used like this, like other ways Fontaine had used him in the past, always brought that reaction. It made him feel sick but he couldn't think about it now, the combination of disgust and shame with the shock would knock him out. Or more accurately, Fontaine would knock him out.

“You're pretty shit at this kid.” Fontaine smirked above him, the hand in Jack's hair twisted and pulled as if to egg him on. Jack's hands reached up and tentatively gripped at Fontaine's hips, fingers shaking with nerves as he did so. Fontaine's eyebrows went up as he felt Jack's hands and stopped his steady thrusting experimentally. Jack, seeing an opportunity to prove himself, acting with the speed and desperation he used in battles of life and death, started bobbing his head frantically, sucking and tonguing at Fontaine's cock.

Fontaine chuckled, Jack tried to disconnect inside his head, unable to depend on the whitewash calm and mindlessness of 'would you kindly'. He didn't like this, he didn't like the way Fontaine was looking at him or the sounds his own mouth made as he sucked him off. “That's better,” Fontaine said in near disbelief, “Didn't know you had it in you kid.”

Jack ignored him as best as he could, as best as his locked and coded brain would allow him to. He tried to make it all white noise, tried to numb the sensation of the dick thrusting his throat, the edges of shock, the pain of need in his own dick.

Fontaine groaned and gripped Jack's hair again and began thrusting in time with him. This was dangerous, Jack knew, but he could not begin to consider stopping his actions. He knew stopping or not helping Fontaine finish was more dangerous, so he increased his speed, sucking down the length with near ease. Fontaine gripped his hair with two hands, ripping at the sweaty hair as he groaned, “Would you kindly take it all, you little whore.”

Jack did, gagging as he fought to swallow all of Fontaine down with the cock still throbbing in his throat. Fontaine eased off, threatening to take himself away completely, and Jack felt a hot pang of need. His hands went to the base of Fontaine's cock, holding it as he suckled and swallowed like a starving man. Fontaine was laughing as Jack gasped, his stomach full, coughing as his throat fought to regain its shape.

Fontaine stepped away, still laughing, as Jack curled over. His chest flared up with pain as his sweater scraped against the wounds he had forgotten about and he cried out, his throat raw and abused. Fontaine picked up his wrench from where it had been dropped to the floor and tested its weight again, Jack twitched and looked up at it, cursing himself silently as he knew his face was giving away his apprehension and fear.

“Oh come on kid,” Fontaine said as he touched the wet blood that was still on it from the last strike and rubbed it between his fingers. “You should be used to this by now.”

Jack woke up a few hours later in the cool glow of a vita chamber, his skull tender from where it was just repaired by the chamber, the blood dried and caked on his face. His mouth still tasted of Fontaine's cock. He groaned at the pain and let himself go limp against the side of the chamber, not sure if he should be thankful he was still alive or not. Wondering what Fontaine would have in store for him next time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More trash, this time with some winter blast plasmid play and bloody blowjobs.

Since Jack had become aware of his origin, his conditioning and the triggers in his head Fontaine had his finger on, he had learned a lot about himself. Not in the way he assumed other people learned about themselves or discovered who they really were, he doubted he would ever have a chance or the psychological room to achieve that. What he was discovering was the way his brain worked, the switches and the wires and the channels and everything that made him tick. 

 

Fontaine would gleefully explain to him that any sense of individuality or personality was a shadow of all the crap Suchong had carved out of his skull. Would tell him the complex mental maps the team made up of how his brain needed to work, how they had attached electrodes inside and rewired and reworked until he was the human version of a wind up toy. The way he explained things was crude and always meant to be hurtful, to crush any spark of light inside of Jack.

 

He was right though. Jack had seen the proof, remembered fragmented visions of surgery lights and the broken remains of his mind control tests. He lived it, knew the relaxing euphoria he felt as he responded to his three words, knew the instilled terror and pain he felt at so much as thinking of disobeying an order, and experienced how threats, no matter how weak or small, frenzied him into action until whatever it was that hurt him was dead. Except when Fontaine hurt him. 

 

But since Fontaine had control of Rapture, however long it had been, Jack noticed his brain adapting to seeing the strings being pulled. To the onslaught of abuses he could not fight back against, even as his heart raced and adrenaline screamed at him to fight. The awareness he had at his programmed need to comply and follow orders and obey despite what it would bring. The way he policed himself without direct orders, the way he tried to predict what would be asked or wanted of him so he could act appropriately, even when it was something he dreaded doing. His brain was adapting to it. And slowly, ever so slowly, as he kept waking up in vita chambers after being abused to death by his own or Fontaine's hand, he started to crave the pain and abuse.

 

Aside from what Fontaine gave him all he had was killing at his command. Both became an incessant need that gnawed on him in the off hours, when Fontaine finally fell asleep or left him mentally locked to the spot as he went off to do other things. It became as real an addiction as the splicers and their ADAM. Jack was itching to deal out hurt, or be hurt and used, even as he dreaded it he knew if he could reach the center of the storm he would be able to relax and feel euphoric again.

 

Jack was doing his best to hide it from Fontaine. Mask the evolution of his mental conditioning under the guise of what Fontaine paid and asked Suchong for. He knew that if Fontaine knew he would up the ante, he would find new words that bit harder, he would find a way to break Jack further having come to the realization that Jack was not immoveable stone but shape-able clay. Jack feared that.

 

Even as Fontaine sat there, yards away from where Jack swayed on the spot, Jack felt something like a low vibration. Something in him buzzing for that deadly attention that was directed not at him but at the monitors mounted around Fontaine's desk. He was watching the monitors lazily as he smoked, feet up on the desk, watching for... Jack wasn't sure what he was watching for, he seemed to watch them out of some sort of habit. Jack imagined the time before he killed Ryan, when he was fresh and ignorant of the control, how Fontaine must have sat there speaking into the radio as Atlas while he watched Jack fight his way through Rapture. 

 

Fontaine exhaled smoke and the smell made Jack's skin crawl in every place he had been burned by one. He wished Fontaine would do it now. Fontaine's rough work boots, an old remnant of his Atlas costume, tipped in time to the tune he was playing in the background, Jack remembered the kicks and blows and the texture of it grinding on his forehead. He almost shook on the spot. He eyed the pliers and saws and the hammer and exhaled slowly, his body remembering each pain and torment with equal parts dread and need.

 

He hated being useless, unneeded as he was now. He entire existence depended on being needed by Fontaine, the longer he went without his abuse the more he feared he would be disposed of or left to slowly starve unable to break an order to stay put. His need for abuse was not clear-cut desire but a matter of survival.

 

Finally Fontaine inclined his head, but didn't take his eyes off the glowing monitors. “Hey kid.” He called and Jack's nerves jolted. “Looks like my boots are still dirty from kickin' the shit out of you yesterday. Why don't you kindly take care of that for me.”

 

Jack moved on stiff bones quicker than he should have, placing himself on the opposite end of the desk where Fontaine's boots where. As he approached though, the man waggled his finger with a tsking sound before spinning his chair around with his boots planted on the damp ground. Jack felt a jolt in his stomach, his brain recalling the last time this happened, anticipating the pain he might experience and how to, as always, continue to please and survive.

 

He dropped to the damp and hard ground in front of Fontaine, on hands and knees as he went in to clean the boots the only way he was permitted to. He ran his tongue across worn leather, salty from walking through water, metallic where his own blood had dried. He worked quickly and enthusiastically, his tongue circling almost sensually as he damped the tangy leather, scraping the remnants of his blood from the wrinkles and cracks. Fontaine casually crossed his legs, making Jack follow the boot upwards as he desperately tried to finish cleaning it before Fontaine thought to punish him. Not that Jack would mind that, he just found pleasing Fontaine felt better. Fontaine nudged the end of the boot into Jack's mouth, he accepted it readily, let the tread grind his tongue. After a soft nudge of a kick Fontaine let him clean the other, which he did faster and with more enthusiasm. 

 

“You're getting real good at that boyo.” Fontaine exhaled his smoke, picking up the Atlas voice. Jack shivered, the encouragement and praise mixed with the voice did something to him, and Fontaine occasionally liked to jab at that, sometimes to mock him, other times to lay layers of trust so he could try to shatter him anew.

 

Jack sat back on his heels, his tongue squirming at the uncomfortable taste in his mouth as he felt the gaze of Fontaine heavy upon him, deciding what might be fun to put him through tonight. Fontaine made a long winded sigh, a 'what am I gonna do with you' sigh. He glanced back at the monitors, eyes resting on one displaying a splicer who had gotten himself frozen in a faulty freezer. He looked back down at Jack, a look of dark curiosity spreading “You still got that 'winter blast' plasmid kid?”

 

Without a thought Jack twitched his wrist into an icy fist, the flesh turning clear and cold as ice, icicles crackling into shape. It tingled and stung slightly, as it usually did, in the past he had be able to relieve the itchy pain with a strong punch or sending the ice from him and covering a splicer. Just holding it though, he wasn't sure how long he could hold it. He didn't say this, of course, he might want to please Fontaine with his own pain but he didn't need to help him with ideas.

 

Fontaine grabbed Jack's arm in the place right before his flesh turned icy and turned it over, inspecting the gradient from flesh and bone to seemingly pure ice. He frowned at it, “How in the hell does this even work?” Fontaine had still not spliced, and ended up using Jack to try and understand how they worked. Which ended up more as painful experiments than casual exploration. 

 

The ice was starting to itch and hurt, it was a sticky, dry sort of cold that started to make him shake as he held it. Fontaine watched with a cocked eyebrow and Jack dared not brush the ice away, to where ever it was it went, not with Fontaine interested and watching. “Hold it Jackie boy.” He growled as Jack's hand started twitching, the icicles lengthening as he grew colder. Jack bit his lip as the ice crawled up his forearm, first in ferns of frost twisting down his wrist as Fontaine let go, then in crackling freezing flesh as Jack held the arm stiffly where Fontaine had been holding it. 

 

Jack squeezed his eyes closed, gritted his teeth as he struggled to hold in his cries of pain and barely succeeding. The ice crawled and cracked to his elbow and he felt the sting as it wrapped around his elbow, locking the bend in place as flesh and bone was replaced with ice and crawled under his sweater. He started breathing heavily in near-panic, eyes darting at his upper arm, his shoulder, imagining the ice finding his chest and the soft warmth inside and freezing it. Fontaine pushed at his woolen sleeve with stiff tentative fingers, observing how it slid as if against glazed ice. His eyes stared up into Jack's darting and panicked eyes, “Whadda ya think kid? How long can you keep it up?”

 

He wanted to answer with something Fontaine wanted to hear, but his brain was spinning in fear over this new sensation, crawling at old memories of being frozen to the spot and having his face caressed threateningly. He didn't want to freeze solid, he didn't know if he could actually survive his organs freezing solid and he couldn't imagine how the pain would feel. His lips twitched with panic, needing to find a way to answer with something. 

 

“F-F-Fotaine...” cold air escaped his mouth as he stuttered, he realized that a thin layer of frost had spread to the outside of his sweater and to the rest of his skin, catching like snow in his eyelashes as he blinked hard against the cold. It was creeping under his arm, around his shoulder. “P-P-P-Pleaaasseee,” was all he could manage as he was sure his lips were turning blue. Begging was usually a correct answer with Fontaine. Pleading worked. Even if he couldn't communicate what it was he was begging for.

 

“Hmmm.” Fontaine mused, pulling at the stretched out neck of his sweater back so he could see the ice spreading to Jack's collar bones. “I can almost see your insides kid, just hold it a little longer and I won't need to cut your belly open to see them.”

 

Jack felt his eyes watering, the other side of his body shivering more and more violently as his temperature dropped. Fontaine was gonna kill him with this, he couldn't be this cold for this long, soon his body would shut down. He looked up pleadingly, the water that had escaped his eyes froze on contact with his skin as he felt the ice sink its claws up into his neck, icicles crackling from the cold surface and lengthening, inwards as well as he tasted blood. He was going to stop breathing or drown in his own blood.

 

But the look on Fontaine's face as he gazed down at him, licking his lip and breathing in slowly at the pure suffering Jack was enduring, it sparked the need Jack had and overcame his need to be warm and alive. Suddenly Jack relaxed, gasped against blood as he felt those angelic notes of euphoria, of fulfilling his purpose. He could die like this if Fontaine willed it, he would gladly let go and et himself freeze solid if Fontaine-

 

“Would you kindly warm yourself up there boyo?”

 

Jack was folded over instantly, coughing and gagging up the blood from his throat onto the damp ground. Just missing the boots he had just cleaned. He kept flickering up his incinerate, letting the rush of heat warm up his core, pulled his still shaking hand towards his face to see it had returned to flesh but become discoloured and grey. He wasn't able to move it and could barely feel it. “I thought I almost finished you off there kid, that was quite the sight to see, all frozen up like that.” Fontaine stepped around to one of his desks, Jack could hear the heavy metallic noise of him picking something up from the tools that laid there.

 

“Up and at em kid,” Fontaine muttered, Jack shakily rose to his feet as the man turned around, lazily inspecting a nail gun in his hands. He looked up and at Jack's numb hand and nodded towards it “Can ya feel it?” he asked casually, making sure the nail gun was loaded. Jack shook his head, licking his chapped and still-cold lips as he eyed the nail gun. 

 

Fontaine 's eyebrows rose in a 'of course' expression as he planted the nail gun in Jack's good hand. “You feel like testin' it there kid?” 

 

Jack shook in need, disguised it as shivering cold and apprehension. “P-please Fontaine, I want to test it.” He stuttered as his shaky grip tightened around the nail gun. 

 

“Go ahead then.” Fontaine crossed his arms and smirked, watching with those shark eyes, hungry for more of his blood. Jack was only too eager to give it to him, readying the head of the gun against the numb hand, digging in the end of the nail that he couldn't even feel. He pulled the trigger and the rough iron nail thrusted itself through his discoloured hand. Instantly Jack choked out a curse, his body curling around the gun and the hand as he stumbled on shaky legs. It fucking hurt. Down inside of his numb hand he still had feeling, and the iron spike had shattered against a bone inside and now was an immobile force against the flaring bleeding wound.

 

Instantly his fingers found the dull end of the nail nested in his palm and went to pull it out, but stopped as Fontaine said a firm 'no'. The fingers of his wounded hand twitched as if shocked back into life as he struggled against the pain, Fontaine chuckled and that jolt shot through Jack again, making him shudder, “Not bad kid, but leave that sucker in there.”

 

Jack dropped his hands, fighting every instinct to rip the nail out, trying hard to focus on the pleasure he was feeling at being useful, at being hurt, desperate to comply and receive more. Fontaine was laughing, he was exploring and he was enjoying Jack being hurt. 

 

Fontaine frowned and stepped closer to Jack, suddenly gripping his chin as he turned his face around to see it at a different angle. Jack swallowed his breath and stared back. The man was seeing something, noticing something in him. Jack felt a real shiver of fear as Fontaine spoke, crooning in the fake Irish accent, “Boyo... are you... enjoying this?”

 

It felt as if a bucket of ice had been dumped in Jack's stomach. He shivered, he shook, he tried to find an exit, some sort of escape from the truth he had been hiding from Fontaine. Panic rose as his brain found nothing but dead ends as he scrambled.

 

Fontaine's grip on his face became claws. “Answer me Jack.” He growled, eyes becoming shadowy. 

 

Jack's breathing hitched and a whining noise escaped him in lieu of words, the fingers on his face dug deep then found his throat, still raw and recovering from the ice and bleeding and squeezed tightly as Jack gagged. Fontaine let off quick, a mere warning, a display of displeasure that confused Jack's shattering brain processes. “Answer me you freak of fuckin' nature.”

 

“Y-y-y-yesss” Jack hissed, his breath and voice cracking as his brain tried desperately to come up with a strategy to stay alive in this situation. He chose his words quickly and with a desperation that hurt as they poured out of him “I enjoy being hurt by you, I enjoy being shown was an insignificant powerless thing I am to you, I-I-I- j-j-just want... you to hurt m-me.”

 

There were tears streaming down his face in his panic and suddenly intense vulnerability, his brain was sputtering and burning out and he couldn't bring himself to look up at Fontaine. Didn't want to see whatever expression was creeping onto his face, disappointment? Anger? Enjoyment? Even pleasure seemed to burn him up right now in his panic.

 

“Well well,” Jack held his breath, the voice was mocking, angry. “We can't have that Jack. You don't think I did these things for your 'enjoyment' do you? I do this-” his grip released as he stepped back “-because you need to be reminded who is in control here. And you obviously need to be reminded that simple little freaks like you are not permitted to experience anything close to enjoyment. Not from me Jack, not unless I tell you you can.”

 

Jack wanted to plead with him, explain himself, tell him that he enjoyed the abuse, the pain, the degradation because of that. He enjoyed it because he required it, because yes he did need to be reminded who was in charge, he needed this. But he knew better than to open his mouth, he knew better than to attempt to rationalize or apologize or do anything he wasn't directly told to do. 

 

Fontaine hovered by the desk full of tools, finally dragging something up and turning with a dark and disapproving look. Jack didn't anticipate pain, didn't even look at what he had picked up, focused on trying to not enjoy it, focused on how angry and disappointed Fontaine was in him.

 

The blow hit him hard in the side of his face, heavy and metal, it could have been many things from the table. He was thrown from the spot he stood, having not braced or prepared for the blow. Jack coughed up blood as he felt the burning sting of broken bones, cheek and possibly a cracked jaw, as he shook on the ground. He heard Fontaine's footsteps approach and he couldn't bring himself to look up. There was a swift kick to his ribs as Fontaine cursed him, a second as he called his mother a whore, a third as he called him useless. Jack took it and tried to swallow need and desire and pleasure but felt as if he couldn't get it all, couldn't force his brain to adapt faster.

 

“Get the fuck up.” Fontaine barked then, searing anger evident in his snarl. Jack obeyed and struggled to get up but was stopped and pushed back onto his knees, instantly Jack felt the cashing and incorrect feelings of throbbing need and dread. He breathed hard, hoping Fontaine could not see the need in his eyes, please, not now, not when he was already angry.

 

“Would you kindly choke on my cock and hate it you frankenchild.”

 

Jack instantly tilted his head backward and opened his mouth wide, so conditioned now to it it required no thought, only made ore efficient by the added 'would you kindly'. Fontaine went to work without a moment of hesitation and instantly Jack was repulsed, sick to his stomach, his brain screeching. He couldn't even recall a time he enjoyed this, not even the concept of being used in this way, he gagged and his throat tightened as it was assaulted by Fontaine's cock, unable to try and stop the onslaught and unable to calm down and let it happen.

 

“That's it you selfish bastard.” Fontaine growled as he shoved Jack's head into a better position, hands gripping against his bloodied and broken face. “You cough up blood on my cock I'll put one of those nails through your throat kid.”

 

It was unbearable, the pain, the relentless thrusting deeper into his throat, now with the fear of messing it up and being punished for fucking up something he hated having done to him. His skin was crawling and stomach turning and yet, some response was happening in his body the would you kindly could not stop. Certain bodily functions acted outside of his mental conditioning unless targeted directly. And the cock assaulting him, the underlying enjoyable feeling of being completely used and humiliated and taught a lesson was stirring him. He could feel himself growing hard, his own dick neglected and throbbing with incessant need.

 

The choking was leading to tears, desperate gasps for breath that were not allowed, and now the blood was rushing downwards. Jack prayed Fontaine wouldn't notice the growing bulge, his face turning hot with shame and hatred as he prayed that maybe he would pass out from lack of oxygen before Fontaine would-

 

Fontaine paused and Jack's heart fell. His eyes shot open and looked up at the man, felt terror rip through him as he noticed he was looking down there. Instantly Jack realized his slack hand had, of its own stupid accord, began pressing down at his own hardened dick as if to try and stop or hide it. And Fontaine noticed, oh god, he noticed.

 

“Really?” The voice was quiet, but thick with anger. Quiet anger was the worst, Jack braced for it to become louder, to become even more violent. Jack gagged, saliva pouring from his mouth where Fontaine's dick still throbbed, and wasn't able to do anything in his own defense except gag and hate that fucking cock in his mouth.

 

Fontaine withdrew himself from Jack's broken mouth and he knew he was in trouble. Fontaine kicked aside the hand that was dumbly still trying to cover his erection, then nudged at one of his knees, “Spread em'”. Jack obeyed, sprawling his knees open against the wet concrete, his crotch barred, the bulge shameless. Fontaine let out a disappointed sigh and lifted his foot, all of Jack's nerves lit on fire before it even met its target. Jack screeched, his body trying to curl around the spot Fontaine's boot had planted itself, grinding against the softest and most sensitive of Jack's body. Tears were pouring and stars were blinking in his vision as he screamed unabashedly, not even trying to hold anything in or consider what Fontaine wanted his reaction to be. His body squirmed pathetically as Fontaine leaned his weight forward onto Jack's cock, hurting so much and so loudly he could not even comprehend the pain. Something must have been breaking or popping or snapping because the pain was unbearable, mixing with his pure shame and self hatred.

 

“You fuckin' freak,” Fontaine growled, grabbing Jack's hair and holding his head up. “I see this shit again I'll cut the damn thing off, you don't have any use for it, do you kid?”

 

Jack could barely breathe, his eyes were darting wildly and couldn't manage to stay on Fontaine. The pain sent shock throughout his body until all he could manage was to keep breathing and whine like a pathetic child. Fontaine pulled Jack's head down dangerously close to his own cock, still hard from watching Jack writhe in pain. “Like I said kid, choke on it and this time we'll make sure you really hate doing it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor poor Jack.

Jack knew he was dead as soon as Fontaine looked at him, the blood poised around his cold shark eyes. The wrench hadn't even touched him. It hadn't, Jack had just missed him, the swing so strong and so close that the still wet blood from the splicer he was bludgeoning a split second before swinging it at Fontaine. The wrench missed, the blood sprayed Fontaine, it happened when Jack felt a twinge of anger at the voice snarling more and more violent orders to him as he broke bones. There was a space, a moment, as if Jack had seen a door crack and thrown himself at it. He meant to cross that threshold but instead, as he stared into those eyes full of death boring into him, he realized he had gotten closed in the door himself. He was dead. Or rather, he was about to be something worse.

Fontaine's hand came up to his face and touched the red, inspecting the blood on his fingers with equal parts disgust and disbelief and Jack could almost see the bubbling rage under his skin. It was as if the moment was in slow motion, Jack could feel his brain committing every detail into painfully exact memory. And he tried, he tried so hard to just move, to just swing once more in this window of time. One more swing and he knew Fontaine would be broken and bleeding and dead just as fragile as all the others if not more so. The thought flared inside him like a flame, bright and violent at first but then the burn scorching his ribs and lungs in a second. He couldn't, he couldn't move the wrench from where it was poised above their heads, blood dripping into his sweater. Betrayed, once again, by his own mind and body Jack just fucking stood there.

“Jack...” Fontaine growled, his teeth barring in a sneer. He never said Jack's name. He never did that. Jack swallowed hard, his heart shuddering in pure fear. “Drop the fuckin' wrench.” 

It clattered to the floor. It echoed loudly, making Jack flinch despite himself. But after the sound reverberated and eventually stopped, the silence crawled under his skin. His arm fell from the frozen position he had, Fontaine's cold eyes slid from the blood to Jack in a predatory glare. The only sound was the dripping of water and the ragged and slowly smothered sounds of the dying splicer Fontaine had, moments ago, been gleefully ordering Jack to crush. Jack waited, eyes falling to the ground where the dirty dark water reflected that face, nothing in Rapture letting him escape Fontaine.

“I want you to be honest with me kid.” Fontaine kicked the wrench aside, as if Jack might try to pick it up. As if he had the option. As if that, that glitch that had let him try to make a move on his own would somehow flare up again. Jack watched the water ripple and break as the wrench was kicked, the words settling into him. Be honest. Be honest? Jack could feel his very soul rattle, trying to escape. “What was it, exactly, you were hoping to achieve there?”

Jack couldn't look up, could only stare at the distorted reflection under his feet. He felt his brain scrambling to assemble thoughts into words, his own thoughts, something that was fragile to start with, something that his own brain constantly discouraged and broke into smaller pieces. Be honest. Jack swallowed hard again just as Fontaine snarled “Would you kindly.”

His mouth betrayed him and poured out the raw, unfiltered words and thoughts. “I could have done it I could have fuckin' broken you.” Jack was staring straight into Fontaine's eyes, he could see the hatred and rage swirling in them under the cold glaze of... of... oh god, he was going to kill him. He really was this time. “I could have smashed your skull into pieces and I had a chance I had a goddamn chance and I fucked up oh god I fucked it up Im sorry Im so sorry please Atl-Fontaine please I don't know what I was thinking.”

Jack could feel the tears running down his cheeks before he even realized he was crying, before he noticed his entire body was shaking under the steady gaze of Frank Fontaine. Jack wasn't even sure if he had blinked the entire time, couldn't see past the abyss in the man's eyes, the cogs inside of it turning in plots against Jack's traitorous flesh. He hadn't even hit him with the wrench. He missed. Be honest. “I missed.” Jack sputtered, his voice unrecognizable to himself, “I didn't even hit you. The wrench didn't hit you. Oh god. I don't know why I did that I don't know I can't – I can't – I can't remember I don't know what happened I-”

Fontaine's eyebrows went up as he looked down at Jack, head pitching back. “Jesus, don't hurt yourself kid.” It was only now that Jack realized that Fontaine hadn't wiped the splicer's blood from his face, instead seemed to wear it as a badge of honour, as war paint. “Let me take care of that.”

He had stepped forward and in a second had Jack's face clamped in his grip. Jack stiffened as Fontaine's fingers pressed into his jaw, his cheek, and straightened his face close to his own. Inches apart and Jack felt like a prey animal, Fontaine snarling over him going in for the kill. For the hurt. A thought flashed across his brain to push against him, to fight back, to snap the man's weak little neck. But even without the would you kindly safeguard, Jack couldn't imagine the thought beyond conception. Felt like a beaten dog with forgotten teeth, cowering from the man with the voice. 

“You listen closely freak. I ain't nothing like these splicers you've been killin' down here. I am the man that owns you, flesh, brain, ADAM and associated patents. You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me, you'd be a red mark on a whore's fucking dance card. You ever, ever think you can take me down again, you remember that there is pain... and then there is me.”

There was a kick at Jack's knee, strong and unexpected enough to drop him against the wet concrete. His joints stung as they hit, the water soaking in his clothes as he tried to regain himself from his shaking limbs. Everything flashed white in his vision as Fontaine's boot collided with his face, flipping him back into the water on his back. Stars danced in Jack's vision as he stared up at the ocean above him, too shocked and fearful to move. It wasn't the promised violence Jack knew was coming that froze him, it was the dread he felt at what else Fontaine would concoct against him. What he would say. What he would make him do. He'd rather just be beaten to the flooded floor, he'd rather that than what he expected to come.

Fontaine sighed as Jack's hands surveyed the damage and pain in his face, crouching down casually next to him, as if Jack had simply slipped and fell. “Alright kid, listen,” Jack quieted his breathing and angled an ear away from the water, unable to make eye contact. “You are going to continue to be honest with me, which I think I deserve, I'm nothin' but honest with you. I want to hear everything going on in that pretty little head of yours while I work out this glitch of yours. I don't appreciate you performing less than what I expect after I paid a pretty penny for you.”

Jack stared up at the dark ocean above him and instantly his thoughts sprung to life in his mouth. “I wish this glass would just break so the ocean would crush me.” The words came out flat, lifeless, steeling himself for the responses and the punishments he knew he would get with this new invisible hand inside of him. Fontaine chuckled, not unkindly, and that made it worse. “I'm sure you wish a lot of things kid.” and Jack felt himself being dragged.

He didn't bother trying to get up or turning to see where Fontaine was dragging him. He just let it happen, watching the ocean swell above him, still thinking about drowning. The pull stopped and Jack twitched at the sound of metal grinding and finally looked up, frowning at the upside down vision of Fontaine fiddling with something round and metal. It looked like a component of some machinery, or … “What is that?” Jack heard himself say, “That looks a lot like,” he squinted “a part from those big daddy helmets? What is, why are, I-” 

His fragmented thoughts were cut as Fontaine turned on his heel and made a small shrill whistle and nodded his head up at Jack. Something about the gesture itched inside Jack's brain, on the edges of half baked imprinted memories, and he understood it. He rolled and pushed himself up off the ground but was stopped by an open palm when he reached his knees. “It's a little gift for you.” Fontaine held the round metal ring where it opened at a hinge. Jack was sweating. “Just something to remind you that you're nothing but mine.”

The metal was cold against and was locked in place around Jack's neck before he could think of a response. It was heavy, and only big enough to not choke him. Jack swallowed the shaking and nerves and fear stained thoughts before they could reach the surface and his adams apple pressed against the collar. He recognized it, and he recognized what Fontaine was saying to him. “I-its from those helmets...” Jack knew well enough, had made buckshots in them and watched the pressure the metal held crack, fluids dripping from the hidden heads of those hulking beasts. “A-and... and its... its... no.. no no no you can't be serious... you can't...”

Fontaine was busy taking the last of Jack's weapons from where he kept them strapped to his sides and back. He barely looked up as he pulled a syringe and grabbed at Jack's left arm, “Remember that sweet little puppy you had when you were small?” Jack wasn't sure if his stomach turning over violently was a response to Fontaine or the needle that slammed into his forearm and was draining the last of his eve from his body. He almost gagged against the collar as his body shuttered and his stomach kicked back violently, a broken fragmented slide show of half-remembered memories playing behind his eyes, ripping the scabbed wounds those damn accu-voxes had torn open. 

Be honest. Jack opened his mouth and instead of words he felt his body heave, gag, pressing his throat against the slowly warming metal as his body seemed to try to eject the memory from his throat. The needle withdrew, dry and painful as it bruised but still Jack couldn't get a handle on the thrashing inside his stomach. His hands held wet concrete, holding himself up as he wrenched and choked on panic. Fontaine stood and tossed aside the last of Jack's weapons, the needle of eve mixed with blood “Yeah I thought you might remember that.” Jack could hear the smirk in his voice.

“F-FffFF-fuCK.. you..” Jack gagged and somehow managed to settle his body as he spat the words out, his eyes hunting for Fontaine's. Be honest. His boot found footing and he started to pull himself to his shaking limbs. “You goddamn bASTARD you and all these other mONSTERS how could you how could yOU YOU FUCKING SICK BASTARD.”

Jack turned on his feet and found Fontaine's smirking face, wanted nothing more than to lay his hands upon it, rip it open with his hands. But Fontaine simply snapped a finger before pointing at the floor, something inside of Jack snapped in response, but the moment to process was too long for Fontaine as he muttered “Down, would you kindly.” and Jack slammed his knees onto the concrete, teeth rattling from his grit. “You got quite the mouth on ya kid, all this time you've been tongue tied but under it all you're full of piss and vinegar aren't you?”

Jack gritted his teeth, having no words, and not wanting more to betray him. He felt vulnerable and exposed by his words, his thoughts no longer safe. He felt jerked around, as if the fucking dog collar Fontaine had latched on him had a chain to yank him around- “Oh god please don't tell me you have a chain or anything for this thing please god don’t.” The words had gotten past his clenched jaw, there was no way to hold them back. Jack looked up at Fontaine and felt his stomach fall at the look in his eye. He was giving him ideas now.

“I think that could be arranged for you.” Fontaine smiled, “You’re starting to get the idea. Smart kid. Explain it to me.” Jack felt like he was going to gag again, wondered if he could force himself into another dry heaving spell to avoid talking. But his words were way ahead of him and bouncing out of his mouth as he watched Fontaine’s hand re-purpose a length of chain attached to the beams of the ceiling. 

“I’m your fucking dog aren’t I.” Jack muttered. Fontaine chuckled, Jack couldn’t stop the expression of humiliation and hatred on his face and was just thankful Fontaine didn’t see it. “‘Make you bark like a cocker spaniel just by using the words ‘would you kindly”“ Jack recited from memory, those three words coming from his throat with a metallic flavor as his adam’s apple ground against the collar. 

He looked up miserably as Fontaine stepped forward with a chain and a grin, “Its nice to know you actually have the information retention those pin heads said you would, I’ve been wonderin’ about that.”

Jack exhaled sharply as Fontaine stepped close to him, eyes up as the man’s hand reached for the metal collar and instantly Jack angled his head back instinctively, honestly. Fontaine shot him a look and he almost squirmed under the gaze, “Stay still.” the man spat as his hand grabbed the collar roughly, gagging and hurting as he fastened the chain to the heavy ring around Jack’s neck.

Fontaine almost skipped backwards as the weight of the chain settled and adjusted to gravity, Jack adjusting to how surprisingly heavy the chain was. Fontaine was almost giddy, holding his chin in a mock gesture of observation. Jack looked instead to the length of chain, following it from the center of his throat where it arched up towards the ceiling, bolted to a metal cross beam. His eyes darted around it, calculating, realizing the chain was clearly meant for hefting large loads, thus its weight. A cold sweat went down his spine as he saw the pulley system it was a part of, realizing if Fontaine wanted, he could hang him off the ceiling by the bulky collar. Jack wondered if the collar would suffocate him as a noose, or if he’d just wiggle like a worm on a hook.

By some grace of god, or luck probably, Jack didn’t voice any of these thoughts. Fontaine didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care what was behind his calculating eyes, “You look great like that kid.” He purred, nodding in approval “Its like it was made for you, or, rather, you were made for this.”

Fontaine pulled experimentally on the chain and Jack steadied himself against it, chin in the air, needing to stay still for him. He let out a small sigh as the chain was dropped. Fontaine made a sound of inquiry in response and Jack instantly turned his eyes away from him, knowing he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself “This is humiliating.” He said miserably, the weight of the swinging chain pulling on his neck. 

"Ain’t you used to that yet kid?" Fontaine sneered, clearly enjoying himself. Jack closed his eyes for a second, his thoughts too complex to be blurted out as he thought about the chokes and leashes and electric fences set up in his brain he couldn't escape or try and pull from. 

"But this is unnecessary." Jack almost whispered.

"Oh?" Fontaine tugged on the chain, Jack blinked hard against the pain in his neck as his body followed, knees still cemented to the ground. "Have you forgotten how you got into this position? Its cause you need some reminding of who you belong to, of what you are."

Jack felt his lip shaking as the pull on the chain dropped, left it swinging from where it tethered him to metal beams and structure. His eyes darted nervously up at Fontaine in the pregnant silence, felt bile in his mouth at the expectant and waiting look on his face. “I-I-I-I…” Jack stammered, words pouring like cut nerves, unfeeling and messy. “You don’t need to, I already, I know, I-I-I know…”

Jack flinched as Fontaine’s hand held his chin and pulled it upwards, softly, so softly Jack gasped in anticipation of coming pain. He looked up at Fontaine, docile in his hands and useless on his knees. The forced eye contact made Jack want to squirm, but didn't want to give him the satisfaction. “Tell me kid, I want you to use your words.” Fontaine growled, his fingers grazing softly against Jack’s bruised cheek in a gesture that was more threatening than his voice.

Be honest. It echoed in his head and Jack couldn’t hold back the snarl that came with the words, “You sadistic sonvabitch.” His teeth were barred, his voice breathy as saliva flew from his snarling lips, “You know I fucking know what I am and what I mean to you and that you fucking own me, not a fucking moment goes by without you beating me with this shit. I know I’m a fucking frankenstein freak, I know I’m nothing to you, I know you own me and I know I’m nothing but a fucking attack dog to you. But you, you are the sick scum of this hellhole and all you want right now is for me to say EXACTLY what you want to hear but I have to be HONEST so you can punish every single part of me.”

Jack was going to be sick, he wasn’t used to expressing himself. He wasn’t supposed to be this reckless or stupid, all of his instincts inside were screaming at him to shut up, to at least try and survive this assault, to stop pressing the barrel to his own head. It was wrecking havoc on his mind, his insides squirming in protest. His eyes and face twitching under that steady, firm hold Fontaine had on him. Jack was forced to face him and watch as Fontaine burst into laughter, never breaking eye contact with Jack as he did so, the sound bouncing off the walls and inside of his head. “You’re a smart kid,” The man said as his laughter waned, “Such a smart, hurt and terrified little kid, ain’t ya?”

Jack’s lip quivered, “I’m terrified.” He closed his eyes, taking advantage of the reprieve from looking into Fontaine’s eyes. “I hate this. I hate that you are making me do this.”

Fontaine's hand moved to stroke his beaten face, Jack couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. “I can tell.” It was barely a whisper, the hair on Jack’s neck stood on end. “It’s good, you’re doing so well, its exactly what I want.”

The hand fell and Jack’s eyes opened, fear and anxiety building as each moment went by, still waiting for Fontaine to bring the physical hurt. He could see the fear in his eyes, he was sure of it, he tried to swallow it back and steel himself. He had been through this time and time again, had been beaten to a pulp and brought back, had bones broken and blood spilled and came back, now Fontaine didn’t even seem interested in physically hurting him. Was more keen to humiliate and lay in the hurt with his words, with the anticipation of pain, and now at having Jack spill what was last of his guts.

Fontaine hovered, appraising him as Jack looked up at him, waiting. Finally the man turned, some idea buzzing in his head as he paced back through the water and picked something heavy and metal out of the - oh shit. “No no wait please not my wrench.” Came out before Jack could stop it, Fontaine shot him a look, his eyes still framed by that spray Jack had marked him with. Jack had almost forgotten that was why he was collared and chained, he didn't know how it had slipped away so easily, he had been so distracted by being honest and being collared and everything.

Fontaine tested the wrench’s weight with a hand, letting its head fall into his palm repeatedly as he strode back to Jack. “No no no no” Jack’s lips shook and he tried to bite down on them to stop himself but he couldn’t, “That’s my wrench, its my wrench, don’t, don’t hit me with it, please, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry.”

Jack was feeding Fontaine, he knew it as soon as the words fell out. The man’s grin was increasing with every protest and every pathetic begging word. “No?” He asked, mockingly, snidely as his fingers stroked the wrench. Jack felt in some way violated, as if the wrench was an extension of himself. “Not with… your wrench? Yours huh? You think this thing belongs to you all special-like?”

Jack groaned, the honest expression of dread mixing with pure misery. “N-n-no… I… I like to think…” He was trying to edit his words but holding them back hurt worse than letting them loose, “I-its mine, but, but, no you’re right. You’re… right, its not, it’s yours. Everything is yours. Anything I have is… yours.”

Fontaine smiled, the wrench still in his hands. He stepped close, pushing aside the heavy chain, the shifted weight pulling on Jack as he shook and waited. “That's right kid, I own you and all the intellectual property associated, and all that technology that makes you tick.” Fontaine tapped Jack's temple with the wrench, softly, so softly Jack let a small sound escape him in anticipation. How long was he going to stay soft, how long was he going to drag this out? “But you gotta little problem up in there don't you kid? A little kink for us to iron out. You thought you could bite the hand that feeds you? You thought getting rid of me would somehow improve your little situation here? You're nothing without me, and I'm going to make sure you remember that this time.”

Fontaine lifted the wrench, the sound of its teeth shaking in its vice rang familiar in Jack's ears as it was arched above him. His shoulders squared as he steeled for a hit, eyes watching as the wrench swung down towards him in slow motion yet so fast he couldn't keep his eyes on it. In a blink Jack's teeth clenched as a stinging, ringing pain rattled from his hand down his shoulder, his bones lighting up in pain. He gasped, confused, expecting his head to be cracked he was instead looking up at his hand, fingers shaking around the wrench where he caught it in the air before it could hit his skull. Fontaine was staring, sneering, at Jack as he tried to shake the wrench from his grip. But Jack was too strong and Fontaine couldn't compete with his painfully tight grip. 

“Would you kindly” Fontaine growled, Jack was shaking, “let go of the fucking wrench.” Instantly Jack's hand dropped to his side, his eyes wide in shock at how badly his survival instincts had just fucked him over. 

Immediately Jack's mouth spilled “I'm sorry I'm sorry oh my god I'm so sorry you didn't tell me not to protect myself and I couldn't help it I couldn't help it I didn't want to but its all the things in my head please please I was made like this, remember? I can't, I can't think for myself I...”

“Put your hands in front of you, on the ground.” Fontaine ordered, cutting off Jack's pathetic attempts to explain himself. Tears were welling in his eyes as he dropped his hands to the ground, having to reach, having to pull against the chain as he lowered himself. The chain wasn't quite long enough and it tightened the metal around his neck till it craned and hurt. His fingers sprayed on the wet ground, balancing himself between the collar's pull and the order. Fontaine stepped around, not saying a word until he stepped hard on Jack's fingers. “I know you have the capacity to learn you little shit.”

The boot ground and Jack cried out as his knuckles cracked and burned in pain. His unhurt hand shook in sympathy and fear, the collar cutting into the side of his neck as he bent with the pain, no position allowed him reprieve from the boot and the collar. “I'm sorry I'm so sorry,” Jack's words were becoming messy, saliva falling from his lips as he begged. “I'll learn, I'll be better, I won't do it again I'm sorry I'm so sorry I-”

Jack words were cut off, replaced with screeches of pain as his wrench was suddenly smashing over his free hand repeatedly. His wrench, his familiar, comforting wrench beating the bones in his fingers and in his hands until Jack could hear and feel them crack and break. He dropped his hold on himself, falling forward against the chain, gagging him as he fell into its hanging hold. He felt himself swing as he coughed and gagged against the unrelenting grip on his neck as the wrench finally finished, Fontaine stepping back from his stance on top of his other hand. 

He couldn't talk with the collar choking him, and he couldn't regain the hold his hand had before the bones were broken. But oh god, if he was able to do anything besides swing his torso by he chain and gag he would have screamed the worst possible things at Fontaine. He would have let the piss and vinegar out again, he wouldn't have cared, it hurt so much. It hurt so much and he knew his other hand was next, and no sooner than he had thought it his trusted wrench crashed down into his unbroken knuckles. 

“Stay with me kid, we ain't no where near done yet.” Jack opened his eyes and realized he had blacked out for the last couple seconds. Fontaine was pushing at Jack's chest to correct his stance, putting him back up to his knees. Jack coughed and gasped as the collar dropped its choking hold and fell back to its regular position. He felt as if his hands were on fire, a choked sob escaping him as his stomach churned, unwilling to look down at his shaking and broken hands. “Come on kid,” Fontaine said then, his voice soft. “Take a look at em, tell me what you think.”

Tears were running down his cheeks, welling and distorting his vision as he brought his shaking hands up where he could see him. His breathing hitched, panic and shock clinging to him as he saw the cracked and bloody digits, shaking and dripping they curled and pointed in wrong directions. Like a spider crushed under a boot, the broken bones were splayed and Jack could see where the carpals in his hands had snapped. “Oh god” He breathed, his voice cracking into an embarrassing whine, “no no nO NO NO OH GOD Fontaine? Oh my god, no, no it hurts so fucking bad...” Jack could feel his stomach heaving, the sound of it mixing with his hitched breath “I'm so sorry, I learned, I learned! I know better, I'm so sorry I won't- I won't- I'm so sorry”

“Aw, poor little Jack.” Fontaine mocked, wiping a tear from Jack's face as he gasped and flinched at the tender touch. “Hard knocks hey kid? Just a bit of tough love to set you straight, since I still got a bit of work to do you on. Set you right.” Jack was still flinching to his touch, Fontaine's free hand gently stroking and now spreading the wetness of his tears across his bruised face. “Whats the matter kid? Don't you trust me?”

Jack's stomach threatened to empty its bile down his chin but he choked it back, choked back the fear and the pain and the shock spreading into the edges of his vision. “No,” his voice cracked, sounding more like the old accu-voxes he had heard of his own past as the torture went on, “No no no I can't, I can't trust you again, I can't trust you ever ever again, you're going to... you're going to...”

Fontaine made a theatrically disappointed sound, “Oh, now you've hurt me kid. Cut me deep. Why don't you trust me?” It was mocking and it hurt as much as Jack's hands to listen. “I trust you, even after you tried to crack my skull open. So come on, just a little bit of trust kid, you're among friends ain't ya?” There was a pause and the silence made Jack whine. Fontaine pulled at his collar, adjusting his position. He tried to hard to calm himself, to trust, to try and trust, but it was useless, he knew Fontaine was winding up for the hurt. 

Fontaine whistled like before. Jack looked up from his broken hands and saw the wrench, wet with his own blood, and his honesty made a horrible noise right before the tool collided with his skull. His vision burst into white lights, dancing and ringing with a static so loud that for a graceful moment Jack couldn't feel any of the pain. Then in a blink, it all came at once. His vision doubled, broke then focused as he cried out in blind pain. Pain white hot, he could feel wetness dripping into his ear and down his neck, the pain blossoming and closing like the painful pumps of breath in his chest.

Fingers snapped in front of his eyes and Jack pained himself to focus against the crashing waves of blood and pain and burning stomach acid. “Stay with me, would you kindly not pass out?” Fontaine's voice went from a muddled distorted whisper to distressingly loud and clear in Jack's ears, his entire body suddenly straining for normality, adrenaline pumping inside of him and bringing fight into his nerves. Useless fight or flight instincts bubbling inside of Jack as he sat there, chain swinging and his hands curled into broken tangles.

“That's it kid, you feel it?” Fontaine held Jack's chin up, fingertips digging into his throat. “You feel that... correction? You gonna remember this lesson?” 

The chain jangled as Jack nodded his head, fighting against the darkness of shock creeping against his, focusing his gaze on Fontaine's cold eyes to keep him here. “Yes, yes yes oh god yes I'm better now, I learned, I won't try anything stupid like that again, you fixed it, you fixed me, I'm fixed, I'm better, please...”

Fontaine's finger dug deeper into his throat, “You still being honest with me?” Fontaine's second hand pulled the chain up, the ring around Jack's throat pulled up under his ear on one side. The blood was still dripping down Jack's neck. 

“YES, yes yes yes” Jack's voice was almost lost against the choke “Please, please, I'm being honest, I swear, I swear I'll be good just don't...” He could feel his broken hands shaking, useless as Fontaine let go of the chain and the collar fell back to its place.

“Good.” Fontaine purred the word, tasting it as he angled Jack's face up to look at him. Jack's vision blurring and focusing, the pain searing, he couldn't even be scared of the eye contact, he felt his edges becoming numb. “That's a good little freak. You remember who you belong to?” 

Jack almost closed his eyes but instead widened his eyes and nodded again, his lips letting a few whines of pain out. “Y-you.” The word sounded strangled, but Fontaine smiled in approval, the expression stinging fresh fear into Jack.

Jack flinched as he felt Fontaine's hand on his chest, his fingers tracing circles against his filthy sweater, a whine escaping his lips as his vision pulsed and greyed. “But...” Fontaine's voice went solid, sharp and Jack felt gooseflesh where he wasn't bloodied. “You said some... strong words earlier. And since you're being honest, so open and honest with me, I would love to see what other shit you got rattling around in that trap of yours.”

“W-what? No, no no no please I don't have anything...” Jack heard himself begging, felt Fontaine's fingers at his throat, felt his sweater shifting against his skin. But he didn't have anything honest to end the sentence with. “Please don't I don't want to talk any more please it hurts so much I'm scared and I don't want to talk any more please pLEASE.”

Fontaine squeezed Jack's throat, pressing the collar into his adam's apple, closing the airway above the collar's metallic grasp. Jack gagged and groaned, but leaned into it. He'd rather be choked, gagged, hurt, than to be forced to spill more of the hatred locked away inside of him. He could deal with being choked, he knew he'd be ok, even as his vision cracked and everything darkened, he stayed awake, staring into those eyes. Fontaine let go and air was almost painful to suck back up, Jack's hope of being smothered lost as soon as it came. “Start talking kid.”

It wasn't even a direct would you kindly, but matched with the honesty Jack was pained to uphold the order. It cracked him and his mouth opened. “I fucking hate you.” His vision blurred, he coughed but he kept on “I hate you I hate you I will never raise a hand to you ever again but I will think about it every time I see your fucking face, you sick coward bastard, if I'm nothing you're the fucking MASTER of nothing you rule this stinking hell-hole but all you have is ME and without ME you'd have fUCKING NOTHING FRANK FONTAINE you are a fucking pathetic waste and if I had my-”

Jack cut himself off violently, biting down on his tongue in a stunning loophole as his mouth filled with blood. He coughed and choked as his tongue fought him to continue talking as his teeth ground further into it. But the look on Fontaine's face was priceless, the shock of the sudden turn mixing with the disgust and hatred and pure rage. “You fucking little shit.” He growled, turning away to step across the room as Jack coughed up the blood and groaned against the pain. He stifled a laugh of victory, he truly had learned his lesson and knew he would be punished again for this, but it would be better than emptying the last of his hate for Fontaine to hold against him. This was better.

At least, that's what Jack thought before he saw what Fontaine came back with. The blade gleamed in the dark and Jack heard a fearful and miserable noise cough up with his blood. “You fucking freak, you want to be hurt? You like your own blood that much?” He was barking, spitting as he grabbed a fistful of Jack's hair, blade poised against his dirty sweater. Jack tried to be honest but could only slosh the blood in his mouth, his tongue twitching in pain against his teeth. “Why don't I help you with that? Drive this lesson in you a little deeper.”

Jack gasped against the blade, squeezing his eyes closed as his vision swirled and the sharp metal cut between his rib bones. Everything was sharp, his hands and his head and his eyes and Fontaine jerking the knife where it lodged in his flesh. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his eyes opened, searching for Fontaine's, begging with his eyes, pleading with his silent pain. Fontaine's eyes were ice and fire all at once, sadism and rage playing against the complete disregard for Jack. Jack was nothing. Jack was a wriggling, squirming, bleeding thing under his blade. 

The knife withdrew and Jack sank, slipped closer to the ground even as the collar and chain hung him in place. He could feel himself dripping, he could feel the loss of blood, the static behind his head wound and he stared upwards at Fontaine. His sliced tongue twitching around words begging for a real death, words he could not form now, and was unable to question whether or not they would have even been safe to say. 

“You look a lot better like that kid.” Fontaine wiped the blade on Jack's gasping face, twitching and flinching as his own blood smeared his cheek. “I know you know better, I know you didn't want to say anything and I assume it was outta respect that you tried to bite off yer own tongue. You've done very well kid, I think... I think you deserve something softer, huh?”

Jack felt a chill run through him, as if the hole between his ribs was letting in a draft. Softer? Fontaine did not do soft, and even when he did gentle he always paired it with cruelty. The blade was tossed to the water, more of Jack's blood mixing with the flooding of Rapture, before Fontaine stepped away. Jack coughed, his stomach heaving as blood came up, spilling over his teeth. As he gasped and fought to keep his airway clear, his consciousness present, there was a sound of chain grinding. His eyes shot up to catch Fontaine activating the pulley system his neck was attached to. The chain rattled and he could feel the weight of the chain lifting and heard an honest miserable sound wind from his blood-stained mouth. The collar shifted and dragged him from his sunken, stabbed and broken position until he scrambled back to his knees, chin pulled in the air so a loss of posture, of stance, would gag him against the metal collar.

Softer. He tried to say it with his wounded tongue, a mangled sound that conveyed more pain than mocking accusation slurred out. Fontaine was walking back, holding an open palm behind his ear, “Hm? You say something kid? Speak up.” He leaned in comically, eyebrows up as Jack groaned and tried to annunciate the word again. Fontaine laughed, right next to Jack's ear, “You've really done a number on yourself there kid. Let's take a look at the work I did on you, I mean, besides that bloody crack in your head.”

Jack's eyes darted about, trying to manage the physical, dripping pain as yet more blood leaked from his lip as Fontaine slid emotional stabs towards him. Something about the mocking, the degradation and the promise of something 'softer' stung sharper as he lost more and more blood. He gasped as he felt the scratchiness of his sweater being pulled up, the wool caught in his wound peeling back from the blood. Instantly his mouth tried to work, his tongue twitching as he struggled around the word 'no', managing to moan the approximate sound repeatedly as Fontaine tucked the sweater under Jack's metal collar. “No?” Fontaine mocked as he made eye contact, “No? Aw, Jack, kid, you know I hate to hear that.”

Jack shuddered as a cold hand ran up his chest, felt his body turning to gooseflesh as Fontaine's face came in and out of focus as Jack's concussion thumped in his head. “There, see? Soft. Nice and soft for ya.” Jack's eyes rolled, fighting to keep himself from shock, trying to get a hod on his repulsion at being touched in such a way. “Don't you like it kid? Ain't this better, being treated softly?” Jack was unsure of what Fontaine was trying to say, what he was trying to get at. Unsure of what he was supposed to be 'learning', if anything, wondered if he could slip between shock and consciousness and just detach. The thought was wrung out of him in an instant as he felt Fontaine's hand at his wound, his chest jerking as he gasped against blood.

“There you are.” Fontaine's eyes found his, the sharp, cold eyes mocking him, His fingers were exploring the edges of the incision, feeling sharp as razors as they ran along his bloody ribs, teased the rip in his flesh. “You like that kid? How soft I can be with you?” Jack almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but couldn't manage past the blood and metal collar buffed up with his wool weather. His head-wound was pulsing, his hands numb, and he made a strangled noise as he felt bare fingers against exposed flesh, suddenly tearing in and prying it more open.

“Mmmm.” Fontaine purred as Jack cried out, “There's that expensive flesh of yours kid, pound by pound, I paid a fortune for you to have this body kid. Probably woulda withered and died all small and pathetic without it.” 

Jack gasped to catch his breath as the fingers released him, his wound shuddering and leaking as he racked his lungs for breath. Jack could barely listen, his eyesight was going, crossing and fading and sharpening and dragging in turn as shock spiked him again. He had to stay here, he had to stay awake but the further this went the harder it was. His body would only give out when it was drained and had nothing, it would work until he was almost dead, but Jack wrestled it back. Got it under him, just before he gasped at a fresh new sensation on his chest.

Tongue. It was Fontaine's tongue. Jack felt his stomach flip as his body jerked against the collar, rattling the chain as he groaned a misshapen series of 'no's. Fontaine's tongue ran up the center of his chest in a long stroke, Jack's protests mixed with heavy breaths, blinking against the perverse irony of near pleasure he felt. Fontaine almost purred, pressing teeth into Jack, savoring the shuddering revulsion and violation seeping out of him. His tongue travelled and Jack gasped as he knew where it was heading, whining in protest as Fontaine's tongue reached the area of his wound. He must have been tasting his blood as the wet muscle pried at the edges, tracing the edges of his cut skin.

What felt like an eternity passed before Fontaine stopped, although Jack knew it was probably only seconds. The man stood slowly, predator eyes boring into Jack as his chest shook against the wetness of blood and saliva. He dragged his gaze up to his tormentor, wanted to be honest and call him every name he could think of, tell him to stop toying with him and just kill him already. The thoughts fell and scattered as Fontaine spit on Jack's face, spit and his own blood getting in his eye, rolling down the side of his nose. “Too bad you taste like shit.” 

Jack was shivering with the last shreds of indignation, breathing hard through his nose as his lips quivered and his sweater slowly sank from where Fontaine had pulled it up. The wool scratching as it slumped against his still seeping wound, Jack felt a wave of shock and exhaustion sweep him as he almost slumped against the near-choking hold of the metal collar, the chain still hanging him in proper position. His eyes fluttered as he tried to steel himself, Fontaine’s hand angling his chin up.

"Still with me kid?" The man purred, "We’re not done yet, just cause I’m being soft doesn’t mean you can pass out." Jack blinked his eyes open and steady, still not buying that Fontaine would actually be ‘soft’ with him, since so far that had meant him fondling his open wound. But he didn’t want to inspire any more punishment when he was so close to slipping away. These things carried over, if he fell half-dead and unconscious before Fontaine allowed him he’d get it twice as worse next time.

Fontaine smiled at him and Jack held back a groan, “That’s it kid, why don’t you give me a smile, a little thank you for me since I’m treatin' you so well” The muscles in Jack’ face twitched, more like a spasm than a conscious movement, but somehow he pieced together the ironic expression. He tried to say ‘thank you’, but winced as he tried to enunciate, his tongue no longer bleeding but delicate. Fontaine burst into cruel laughter, making Jack’s forced expression falter just as the man leaned in close to his face.

Jack felt a chill run down his spine as Fontaine pressed his lips against the bruises and marks on his beaten face. His skin crawled, the gesture twisted up and wrong as his tormentor’s fingers ran through his hair, along the blood that had dried in it from his head wound. Jack shook on the spot, his insides felt sharp as broken glass, hurt and shocked that Fontaine could somehow manage to keep him feeling violated. That he could keep finding cracks and untouched marks on Jack, could keep this up after so long, finding new ways to break him. Jack realized he was breathing hard, light headed and weak, as Fontaine planted kisses closer and closer to his blood-cracked lips. If he hadn't bitten his tongue Jack would have been screaming his disgust and disapproval and pure hurt. But he couldn’t, instead he locked his jaw and sealed his mouth, fearful that Fontaine would push his illusionary boundaries.

Fontaine did, he planted a kiss on Jack’s lips, his tongue running along the blood there, trying to pry him open. Jack shook, eyes wide, feeling a level of disgust rise up in his stomach along with the bile and blood. Fontaine made a dissatisfied noise, his cold eyes looking down into Jacks, as if he could find the thing holding him back in his eyes. And he could, “Would you kindly open your mouth?”

Instantly Jack’s jaw unclenched and his lips went slack, an honest sound of embarrassment and anticipation escaping him. He had expected Fontaine to ask him to kiss him back, he wasn’t expecting something so simple and it settled fear into his skin right as Fontaine grabbed his face roughly and plunged his tongue inside of Jack’s mouth. 

It wasn’t a kiss, not by a long shot, even with Jack’s limited understanding of how intimacy was supposed to work he knew it wasn’t like this. Fontaine’s tongue pressed into him, sliding down and obstructing him as he gagged and squawked in alarm. Fontaine growled into his mouth, running his tongue along Jack’s raw and bloody one, tasting him, removing his tongue only to nip at his lips sharply as Jack groaned and gasped in response. It hurt, it felt wrong, and he felt newly used and degraded as Fontaine coaxed his broken tongue out and sucked it down. Jack couldn't do anything but groan in his displeasure, his tongue caught as if on a hook.

Jack stiffened and struggled, in the small movements he was allowed. His eyes wide as he vocalized his fear and upset, his injured tongue trapped in Fontaine’s, the chain rattling as he tried to take it back, as the man took a fistful of his hair and steadied him. Jack could feel teeth, sharp, amidst the strange warmth and wet, those eyes boring in him as he was finally released. He could taste the copper of his own blood, the wound reopened as Jack was able to take his tongue back. But the command was stiff and heavy against him, leaving him panting with his mouth still wide open, his tongue lack over his teeth.

“Mmm,” Fontaine purred as he stood back to his full height, “You like that kid? You like it nice and soft?” The tone was mocking and Jack felt acid in his stomach as his eyebrows turned up, the only answer he could give in his state. “Hmm? No?” Fontaine ran his fingers through Jack's blood-caked hair, “You'd rather have it hard I think, you weren't made to.... receive pleasure, at least not from something like this. Weren't made for love. I expect you're a little numb to that.”

Jack heard a buzz of white noise inside of his head, a humming as if he was too close to a neon light. As if something deep in his head were covering his ears as Fontaine stroked his face, ran a thumb along his cracked lip, the man's mouth moving with only snippets breaking the veil. Jack wondered for a moment if it was the shock, his bleeding head running on empty, or if it was some sort of survival programming trying to filter out the words. But thought fell into the abyss of his mind as Fontaine’s fingers reached down into his mouth.

They tasted of salt of steel, gunpowder caked in the cracks, dirt under his fingernails. A wet sound erupted from his throat as the fingers pressed against his tongue, spreading and feeling around at where mouth became throat. Jack fantasized, for a moment, of biting down hard on Fontaine’s knuckles, tearing the skin. His head-wound buzzed, his broken fingers twitched as if a warning, a reminder. The pain shooting through him as he closed his eyes for a slow blink, taking the prying reach best he could, hoping soon, if he was good, he might be able to sleep.

“That's it kid,” Fontaine’s voice was getting breathy and Jack inadvertently swallowed against the fingers, muscle memory kicking in. “Ahh, kid, you're really trying to make it up huh? You remember what you're good for? The only thing you're good for?” Jack couldn't nod, not with Fontaine’s fingers running up and down his abused tongue, couldn't answer. He just looked up at Fontaine, his vision blurring and sharpening, unable to keep his focus on the man's empty eyes any more. The man made a mock sympathetic noise, yanked on the chain still attached to his throat, pulling him to gag on the slick fingers. “Alright, I'll be quick with you then.”

Jack's eyes closed as Fontaine’s fingers pulled out, he only meant to blink but could barely manage them open again, instead settling on the blossoming reds behind his eyes. The pain reaching up into him like hands, like waves, like flames. He jolted as the chain was yanked again, his eyes shooting open, a movement that felt surprisingly painful. Fontaine was pulling on the chain, the metal cutting into the sides and back of Jack's neck, keeping him alert and upright. Not that he had any other option besides slumping down into a s;ow metallic choke. Fontaine had pulled himself out of his pants already, purred and growled words that slipped down Jack's face into nothing. His mouth was still posed open so he didn't need to hear the words, knew he was already set up for what his tormentor wanted.

And still Jack gagged, straightened, but left his lips slack as per the command as Fontaine thrust himself into his sore mouth. The man's hand had a fistful of his hair, adjusting the placement of his head as he slowly pushed his cock further down Jack. He closed his eyes tight, they were watering from the obstruction and violation as slowly the damn thing went further and further. Filling his throat so he could only breathe furiously through his nose. He swore he could feel the warm swell of Fontaine’s balls almost against his face, hoped he was imagining it, right before Fontaine pulled out. So swiftly Jack choked on air, his stomach turning as he felt as if he was being turned inside out.

Jack's vision was blurry and shutting down as he coughed, his mouth filling with saliva. But he still saw Fontaine holding his cock, thumb spreading a streak of blood as he growled hungrily. Jack slid his tongue across his wet open mouth, and felt the blood and tears, eyes gazing lazily on his own blood on Fontaine’s dick. Something about it felt violating, disgusting, but the feeling felt far away, as if his brain was hushing it. He opened his mouth a little wider, a little more invitingly, wanting the damn thing to be over with. 'Quick'. He hoped he could trust Fontaine to be true to that at least.

“Fucking whore.” Fontaine growled as he thrust himself back in Jack, gagging him before he could manage around it again. “Bloody and useless.” Jack breathed hard through his nose as Fontaine’s thrust away at his face, the chain clanking and swinging from his neck heavy as over and over and over he took the blunt thrusts, swallowed hard against the intruder. He wanted to wrap his lips around it, suck it down properly, to try and make the bastard come faster. So he could sleep. But the command to open his mouth wasn't taken back, all he could do was let his mouth make those embarrassing sounds, slide his tongue when he could, despite the stinging. 

The metal collar pulled again, digging into Jack as he opened to eyes to see Fontaine had let go of his head and was using the chain to pull Jack further on his cock. God, only Fontaine could find a way to make this more demeaning. Jack choked and gagged and relaxed despite the heavy pull Fontaine put on him. Trying to perform well. Even as his knuckles turned over in an unthinking attempt to balanced himself, grinding the crushed marrow. Fontaine started laughing as his thrusts became short jerks, ramming himself in places that made Jack choke, saliva dripping from his open lips as his throat tried its fucking best to cope. 

A final tug on the chain had Jack caught, his throat full and spasming, trying to reject the throbbing cock, the base of Fontaine’s dick barely an inch from his nose. Jack choked, squirmed, fluid and blood dripping from his swollen lips, his broken hands shaking as they tried to push at Fontaine’s legs in vain. The dick twitched and Jack swallowed hard in anticipation, his body still twitching and spasming to try and get away. 

Fontaine growled an instruction but Jack couldn't hear, didn't need to, knew already what was required of him. He swallowed best he could against the intrusion, sputtering as Fontaine’s warm come shot straight into him. Filling his stomach as he fought to keep it down, tasting the copper of blood as it all mixed up inside of him. Finally, finally, Fontaine pulled out. And it felt like Jack's insides were being slid out, leaving him empty and deflated as he hacked and coughed and gagged, fluids running down his chin.

Jack slumped, sight going dark, spent and used and so much of his blood on the wet floor, swirling in his stomach. His head buzzed as if he were full of electricity, the shocks twitching his muscles as his neck hooked into the collar as if it were a noose, limbs suddenly scrambling to pull himself back up. He had forgotten, or maybe he hadn't, maybe he just couldn't keep his pieces together any more. He coughed up blood as his knees scraped back into position where he could breath against the collar, his vision brightening just enough to catch the sadistic gleam in Fontaine’s eyes. 

“You look like a million bucks kid,” Fontaine sounded as if he tasted each word before they came out, Jack felt a shudder of fear wash over him, recognizing that tone. “I'm sure you can stick around a little longer, be a good little freak for me?” 

Before Jack could register what to be afraid of he jolted at the tug on his metal collar. Not forward but... up. The pull on the chain slid the collar round, the chain pulling on the back of his neck as the collar set itself in under his chin. Jack's broken hands shot up to it as his legs shook and scrambled to his feet, his hands useless, like using egg shells to hammer nails. The moment of relief on his swaying legs was only a second before, in one fell pull on the chain, Fontaine had the pulley retch Jack off his feet. 

Jack's feet kicked, his broken hands beating uselessly at the metal collar as it punched the air from his throat. His eyes wide as Fontaine gave one more deft pull, hanging Jack high in the air, the flooded ground now felt as far away as the topside beaches above him. Fontaine gave a low whistle and watched, purring and spitting words Jack couldn't hear past the blood hot in his ears. His vision choked at the edges, pulsing red as he gagged and choked more against the unrelenting metal. He kicked again, not as a planned movement but as his body's last attempts to save itself. The water above him swirled and he imagined it cracking and flooding the room, drowning him, realizing he had wished that earlier. Realizing that maybe, just, possibly... he wouldn't have to wake up his time. Maybe he wouldn't wake in the glow of another vita chamber, Maybe this would be it.

His eyes closed as his bloody hands fell, his foot twitching before he went still. The sounds of the ocean in his head. Blackness wrapped him in a warm wet blanket, and for that moment, Jack finally felt safe and let himself sleep. Let the dark seep in. Let it inside of him. Let the pain ebb and swell as ocean currents. Let himself dream of the bellies of whales, swallowed up inside, water around his ankles as he relaxed his sore body. Watched as a light floated, blue and hazy and cold, sparking as electricity in water. It kissed him, a real soft kiss, and he felt himself breathe. Felt himself gasp. Felt himself... healing. He forced his dead eyes open, wanted to cry as he saw blue light and glass, back in the world of the living. If you could call this living.


End file.
